


Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy

by Enigel



Category: Highlander
Genre: Community: hl_springfever, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-22
Updated: 2005-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigel/pseuds/Enigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks and apologies to Queen for the title. If I screwed up the brandy lore, I'm honestly sorry. Let that be my worst mistake...</p><p>Written for Ariestess in the 2005 Highlander Springfever challenge, prompt: "Duncan/Methos in a long term relationship or a first time story".</p>
    </blockquote>





	Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariestess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/gifts).



> Thanks and apologies to Queen for the title. If I screwed up the brandy lore, I'm honestly sorry. Let that be my worst mistake...
> 
> Written for Ariestess in the 2005 Highlander Springfever challenge, prompt: "Duncan/Methos in a long term relationship or a first time story".

Sensing an immortal's presence from the direction of his barge was not in itself unusual. More unusual was the identity of the immortal in question.

"Methos. What a surprise."

"Shouldn't you be saying 'what a nice surprise!'? Or 'Methos, what are you doing here?'"

Methos was lying in the middle of the bed, his bed, with his usual nonchalance, as if he owned the place. Well, he almost did, not that long ago.

"If it's nice or not that remains to be seen." MacLeod abandoned his coat on a chair and turned again to Methos. "You know, just for once why can't you sit on the couch like a normal person?"

"No, Mac, the couch is for you. I'm going to sleep in the bed."

"What? You invite yourself and then have the nerve to claim my bed?"

"Fine, you can sleep in it too. I hope you don't mind kicks. I'm an agitated sleeper."

"And I hope you don't mind being strangled in your sleep! Is this why you came, to argue with me about sleeping arrangements of unwanted guests?"

An amused sparkle lit up in Methos's eyes for a fraction of a second.

"Maybe. It's always fun to watch how quickly I can annoy you."

"You have quite a talent for that, I freely admit it."

"Know what? I'm betting you a bottle of brandy I will sleep in your bed tonight."

Duncan sighed and considered his choices.

"I think I'll open it right now, at least I know I'll have a share of it."

* * *

Two hours and one bottle of brandy (Hennessy, 1950, VSOP) later, Methos still hadn't relinquished the reason for his unexpected visit, but MacLeod was less inclined to nag him about it.

"So, you really never... you've got to be kidding me, MacLeod. You never... with a man? How utterly unimaginative of you."

"Well, I'm sorry if I'm unfashionable."

"Somehow I'm not surprised. You were born into a hypocrite time, in a little stuck up village muddled by prejudice and superstition as a way of life."

"Now you're being rude."

"I'm making a point, and finding you excuses."

"Excuses? I don't need no... Excuses for what?"

"For such an outstanding lack of curiosity or willingness to taste more of the world around you!"

"I just haven't been interested. Enough," he added in a smaller voice, knowing he'd regret it soon, since Methos's hearing was not in the least impaired by drinking.

"Oh, so you've been interested, but too lazy to shake off the effects of the mindset in which you've been raised! Or too conservative."

"I'm not conservative!"

"You prefer the term 'stuck up'?"

"I prefer you didn't judge me. We weren't all born back when morals were as liberal as they're trying to make them today again."

Methos huffed, whether in amusement or annoyance MacLeod couldn't tell and didn't care to ask. A silent pause ensued.

"So, when, uh..."

"When the world was young and I hadn't even died for the first time yet. I was a slave boy, Mac, what did you think we were used for?"

"Oh, I don't know, hard work?"

"Do I look like I was made for chores? Anyway, my work could get quite exhausting too. And it's not like I had a choice."

"But if you had?"

"Had what?"

"A choice. If you could choose between physical work and... this other kind of physical work?"

Methos looked at him through half-closed eyelids.

"Like I said, I never was one for heavy work, Mac."

"You trollop. To think with whom I was drinking all this time."

"Oh, you have no idea. I was one of the best. Masters paid my weight in gold to buy me."

"You've always been rather slim."

"Care to try me?"

"What?"

Duncan wanted to be scandalised, he really wanted to, but somehow the idea didn't sound that outrageous, and more like a challenge. Well, he'll prove this annoying, smug... tart wrong once and for all.

"You're free to try."

Suddenly, Methos was invading his personal space, warm and smelling of scotch and most important of all kissing him with a passion and application that Duncan chose to interpret as sincere. Two minutes later, when he pulled back, Duncan opened his eyes and tried to find something to say, but Methos was ahead of him, as usual.

"See? It wasn't that different, you haven't started singing Gloria Gaynor songs yet..."

"I thought difference and diversity were the whole point of the experiment."

"Oh, you insufferable Scot! I'll give you your difference right now. I hope you don't have any appointments tomorrow," Methos hissed in a menacing tone, and Duncan decided that bringing up the matter of paying his taxes would be unimaginative and rude.

* * *

In the morning, Duncan found a cheerful note announcing him (in Latin, of all possible choices) that he'd lost the bet and therefore Methos had taken the liberty to collect his prize, so as not to anger MacLeod by waking him. Sure enough, a bottle of brandy (Courvoisier, 1945, VSSOP) from his allegedly hidden stash was missing. He smiled and shook his head. He knew that without taunting him it wouldn't be the same. Methos would be back eventually, and then he'd show him.


End file.
